CONEXIONSHIP OF THE FICTIVE KIN

“I understand that a man is born into the world with his own pair of eyes and he is not at all responsible for his vision- he is merely responsible for his quality of honesty. To keep close to this personal honesty is my supreme ambition…….I, however do not say I am honest. I merely say that I am as nearly honest as a weak mental machinery will allow.”- Stephen Crane (a letter to a friend)

      Imagine the place in the idealized memory, almost unspoiled, a few rickety fence lines, a glossy fog rising from the wagon ruts in the muddy roadway. Stone and clapboard houses sit true and plumb embracing cozy gardens, facing south, columns of wispy smoke drifting in the breeze; a bark long house in the distance. The only human sounds that break the silence are the tin dinner horn, the chapel bell, an ax felling a tree, or the single shot of a musket killing a deer. These alien aborigines that we peer down upon from our perch, seem so quaint, so harmless, so dear. It’s hard to conceive how they accomplished so much and destroyed even more. We might as well put a little Bloomingburg girl in a starch apron, laying face down in her own blood, a patch of gleaming white skull visible through the open door, or a filthy little boy, cigarette burns up and down his arms, dying of exposure on the picnic table, mom and dad cooking up some meth. back in the trailer.

     My “weak mental machinery” allows me as much honesty as I can dredge up. Maybe if I cut down on the masturbation…..? I “finished” this book a couple of months ago. It was a 650-plus page, rambling mess that started in 1653 and flirted with the twentieth century. I passed the file out among a few friends and soon realized nobody (no matter what they promised) was reading it. Then I started to slash and burn. Zeroing in on the Jennings murder and its aftermath, in a state of extreme triage, I decided to heavily edit and plunge head-on into self-publishing a segment every day. I haven’t missed a day.

    This gives me the freedom to “re-write” on the fly and indulge in the moment if I so desire. Last Sunday two local teenagers were killed by a one-eyed, 86 year old retired judge Isaac Kantrowitz here in Glen Wild. He was not charged, nor was his license taken by police. This old timer has had four accidents in the past three years, seriously injuring two, and killing two pedestrians. I don’t know what the limit on judges hitting pedestrians in this county is. He’s got to be getting close. Being a property owner and de-facto community activist, I’ve taken on the mission of being a thorn in the side to local politicians, district attorneys, cops and friends. The stench of corruption and cronyism is palpable. Once again, nobody seems to be listening or caring. All placate and patronize me, hoping I’ll get bored and shut up. And eventually I will. Outrage has a short shelf-life. This is but one small example of no matter how much things change—they stay the same. R.I.P. boys, I’m doing what I can for the fictive kin.     

      

     The Auburn System did not spring fully formed in a vacuum. It was the product of centuries of trial and error; Newgate being only one of the most recent failures. The popular 1820’s Jacksonian approach of “common sense,” a gut feeling over intellect, as well as a amalgamation of various trends in state penitence, allowed the Auburn System to be thought up and thrive. Sound familiar? Pennsylvanian reformers had for years touted a system of solitary confinement over corporal punishment, with varying results. Impressed with the Pennsylvania system, Thomas Eddy had tried, but been unable to get enough funding at Newgate to fully exploit the concept of solitary confinement. Dewitt Clinton would find the cash. 

    With the construction of a wing of three and a half feet by seven feet, (smaller than a sheet of plywood) single occupancy cells at Auburn the new prison was poised to test the limits of their radical system. On a cold Christmas day in 1821 eighty convicts were marched lock-step to their new accommodations in the north wing of Auburn Prison. The rules were simple. The inmates would stay in their cells twenty four hours a day, not be allowed to work, offered no distraction, no book, pen or paper. During daylight hours they would be forced to stand in silence. At dark they would be allowed to lay on their hard pallets, covered with a straw mattress and no blanket, and go to sleep. If caught sitting or lying down on their bed during the day, the inmate could be flogged, or taken to the cellar for more creative treatment. The inmates were to be so confined for the remainder of their sentences, which in all cases ran into the years— not months. Merry Christmas! 

   Within a very short time, the inmates began to show the effects of this first incarnation of the Auburn System. Physical paralysis, cramping and numbness of limbs were afflicting the men, as gravity pushed their quickly atrophying bodies to their knees. But the worst side effects were to their short-circuited minds. The only escape from the bone crushing monotony was sleep; and that was restricted, forbidden until after sunset. This was what was driving the inmates insane—standing in full consciousness, hours at a time, day after endless day. Suicide and self-mutilation became commonplace. After a year the experiment was declared a dismal failure and the remaining men were either pardoned, or buried. A mental hospital was not an option. The authorities at Auburn gave up on total solitary confinement; realizing the addition of work was crucial to the equation. Once this was accomplished, the success of the brutally efficient Auburn System became the crown jewel of American penology. What hath God wrought?  

        Right outside of Auburn Prison walls, evangelical excitement and a flurry of isms were sweeping over the burned-over district, which only fifty years prior had been the homeland of the Haudenosaunee people and their vast orchards. Joseph Smith was in Palmyra. Charles Finney and the Prophet Matias, aka Robert Mathews, were in Albany and New York City. Jemima Wilkinson was on Keuka Lake. And plenty of known and unknown, crackpots, cultists and charlatans were sprinkled throughout the entire state. With a new immigrant population explosion following the canal west, this particular area spawned revivalism and reformation, which perfectly dovetailed with the new Auburn System of a mechanized workforce and redemptive incarceration. Both prisons and churches needed bodies to justify their existence. The same missionary zeal and pioneer enthusiasm that would forge the burned-over district, would also send the Auburn System around the world. 

     Jack Hodges adapted quickly to the Auburn System and was soon thriving under its rules of silence and congregate work. He became famous within prison walls, held up by corrections officials and chaplaincy alike as a proof positive that the Auburn System really worked. Jack Hodges had such a good attitude and record, he was hard to ignore. Like his years in Goshen, Jack was drawn into collusion with the Reverends and they in turn were drawn to him. In Auburn it was Rev. Louis Dwight, Rev. Jared Curtis, and eventually Rev. Ansel Doane Eddy who adopted Jack Hodges as their glowing example of redemption. Whatever drew Hannah Teed, her husband James, and brother David to recruit Hodges to kill uncle Dick, also made Judge Van Ness change his tune, Dewitt Clinton recommend his pardon, NYS Gov. Martin Van Buren sign his eventual release and all these pastors, politicians, and penologists orbit the old sailor—singing his praises. His gravitational pull was great, if not, like Eddy promised…..miraculous.